


An Endless Road to Rediscover

by quantumgirl



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo is also awesome, Durin Family Feels, F/M, Family Feels, Kíli shows he's got skills, Kíli/Responsibility, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, kili's perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumgirl/pseuds/quantumgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli and responsibility have never actually gotten along well, but he'll try to manage if he can, with a little help from the Hobbit that barely leaves his Uncle's bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Battle Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just kept thinking about how sad it would be if Kíli or Fíli or Thorin had been the sole survivor of their family from the quest and how they'd deal with it. Since I couldn't deal with THAT much sadness, Kíli's just going to be alone for a little while. I thought Kíli would be the most interesting in having to deal with the missing family members since he's the younger brother, and probably never really expected to have much responsibility, nor does he generally act particularly ready for it. 
> 
> I also wanted to see some more Kíliel fic, but there's gonna be a lot of Bagginshield too because Bilbo bleeds his feelings and I'm a pretty devoted Bagginshield shipper. 
> 
> OKAY. Here we go. 
> 
> (Note to any Star Trek readers, I'm still writing my other fic. But all The Hobbit feels forced my hand, and I had to write something. :) )

Breathing was so great. 

Kíli could think of little beyond the wonder of breathing as he lay there gasping for breath, staring at the bright, milky clouds above him. He would love to take a full breath right now, one of those that filled his lungs so beautifully it almost burned. 

He couldn’t feel any pain, which he supposed was actually _very bad_ , but in the moment he was glad for it. A silver lining to his current lack of lung function. He grinned to himself. At least he could die with a smile and as little pain as possible. 

The white of the clouds above was suddenly blocked from him, and he tensed instinctually. Excellent. Here was another Orc who’d probably gladly finish him off since the first one had apparently not done the job quite right. 

His already weary muscles happily relaxed when a familiar face filled his vision.

“Kíli?” Tauriel’s voice was soft but firm, and Kíli let his grin spread to a blinding smile. 

“Ghivashel.” His voice was rough and low; it was all he could manage with his lack of air. 

Tauriel’s brow furrowed in concern, and Kíli realized he had spoken Khuzdul, and that was likely to sound like he was choking to an elf’s ear. 

“Amrâlimê,” he whispered, repeating the word he had already given her. A softer word, gentler. It suited her. 

Her features softened with his voice, her eyes filling with tears. She swallowed heavily. 

“Kíli,” her voice was low, urgent. “I don’t know when help can come…”

He took as deep a breath as he could (not very) and tried to clear his throat. Ouch. Bad idea. As long as he stayed as still as possible, the pain was manageable. 

“S’okay,” he rasped. He wanted to make a joke because his beautiful Tauriel was next to tears, and he would rather die with her smiling if that was to be his fate. “Was I a good hero?” 

“What?” Tauriel’s sorrow was cut with confusion. 

“In the stories Men tell,” he said slowly, “a brave lad must save his lady to be the hero.” He winced as a sharp pain split through his middle. “I think that means you must love me now.” He smiled through the pain.

Tauriel laughed, but her laughter choked into tears and _no_ …that was the exact opposite of what he was going for. 

“Tauriel.” He raised his arm, which only hurt a little really. His vision was going a little wobbly now, never really focusing. But he could focus enough to put his hand on her cheek. He would like to run his fingers softly over the bone, maybe trail them over to the top of her pointed ears, but he didn’t have that kind of dexterity right now. He was too tired. 

She said something, but Kíli couldn’t make out the words anymore. That was okay; he smiled at her anyway. 

His eyelids were heavy. Blinking was hard. He took a sharp, stunted breath, and then everything went black.

* * *

When Kíli next woke, the first thing he saw was Thranduil of all people. While the Elvenking was neither expected nor particularly wanted, Kíli had to say he was happy to be opening his eyes. 

“Hello, young Dwarf,” the king said coolly. 

“I guess I’m not dead.” Kíli smiled honestly at this realization.

“Your skills in observation are astonishing, truly.” 

Kíli was almost afraid to try moving. He didn’t even attempt to sit up, but he did wiggle his fingers and toes a bit as he turned his head to look around him. 

He was outdoors, obvious from the chill in the air and the howl of wind, but beneath a sturdy tent of some sort of heavy cloth. The air smelled heavy with herbs, sweat, and candle wax. There was another dwarf in a cot a few feet away. Óin was leaning over him, pressing something into his shoulder. Kíli thought it might be Ori, but he couldn’t be certain with the healer in the way. 

Thranduil was watching the process with mild disinterest. 

“Why’re you here?” Kíli addressed the elf, so obviously out of place in this dirty tent. Not only was the elf immaculate, not a spot of dirt nor a hair out of place, he was also sporting very fine clothing that was not meant to be dragged through the dirt and blood encrusted remains of a battlefield.

“I was checking on your wound.”

“My—” Kíli peeled his threadbare blanket back, looking down at himself. He wasn’t wearing armor anymore, and his entire middle was wrapped tightly in clean bandages.

“I have more skill in healing than my ward, Tauriel.” The elf smirked. “I believe you may know her.”

He dropped his blanket abruptly, his head jerking up. “She’s alright?” 

“Quite,” the Elvenking tilted his head, his smirk flattening into something more neutral and perhaps a bit forced. “She will be pleased to hear of your awakening.”

Kíli swallowed, shoring up his strength before he asked his next question. “What of my family? Do you know the fate of my brother and uncle?” 

Thranduil winced almost imperceptibly. Kíli’s stomach plummeted. “They live,” the elf murmured. “For now.”

“How much time do they have?” Kíli’s throat was raw. His gut felt heavy, leaden. “Take me to them. I must see Fíli—” Kíli tried to move, to lift himself up, but his abdomen utterly failed him, sending sharp bursts of pain up his side. 

Thranduil fell to his knees next to Kíli’s cot, biting out what sounded like a curse in some Elven tongue. 

“Do you wish to undo all of the work both Tauriel and I have put into keeping you in one piece and in this mortal realm, Dwarf?” Thranduil was pressing his shoulders down, forcing Kíli to remain still. 

His side ached terribly anyway, too much to move, worse even than the last time he broke his ribs.

“Ungrateful race, the lot of you,” Thranduil said, his eyes flashing dangerously. He was still holding Kíli down, even though the Dwarf wasn’t fighting. 

Kíli was glad his uncle couldn’t hear the Elvenking right now. Thorin would probably irate on multiple fronts at this point. Kíli just glared. 

“Tell me more about my brother.” 

Óin interrupted before Thranduil could answer, his gaze brightening significantly when he saw that Kíli was awake. 

“Prince Kíli!” Óin clapped once. “I have medicines for you to drink.”

Kíli groaned; he’d had enough of the older Dwarfs remedies to know this was going to taste worse than Elf food. “Can I at least have water first?” 

Thranduil shuffled out of Óin’s way, which was actually quite hilarious to watch as the healer Dwarf shooed an elf almost twice his size. Óin held out a hand and with Thranduil’s help, they pulled Kíli into a sitting position. Every muscle in his stomach felt torn. 

“Your brother hasn’t regained consciousness,” Óin said softly as he handed Kíli a mug with something steaming that smelled of old socks. “He has a head wound, which are…tricky. The Elves have helped all they can, lad. But he may still wake up.”

Kíli’s hands were shaking, and it was even harder to swallow the horrid concoction. Fíli would want him to be strong, so he forced himself to take a sip.

“And Uncle?” Kíli spoke as loudly as he could so that the hard-of-hearing Dwarf could understand him. Iglishmek would be much easier, but Thranduil was here. 

Óin shuffled, watching Kíli drink with too much attention. “He was impaled on an Orc shaft. It’s a miracle he’s even…” Óin coughed lightly and met the prince’s gaze. “We’re keeping him asleep until the we’re sure the chest wound will close.” 

Kíli paled, imagining the pain. “Oh.” He looked down at his own chest wound. “I thought I’d been impaled.”

“You were,” Thranduil said. “I found you bleeding out on the ice. Tauriel was with you.”

“But your wound didn’t hit anything terribly important,” Óin added quickly, glancing at the Elf.

Kíli nodded, wanting to ask more questions but not particularly wanting answers. He handed an empty mug back to the Dwarf, his fingers feeling cold and numb. 

“I must go attend to other matters,” Thranduil said with his full air of arrogance coming back full swing. 

“If you see Tauriel…” Kíli forced a smile for the Elf. 

The Elf sighed, put upon. “Yes, of course.” 

“And Thranduil, honestly, _thank you_.” Any true dislike Kíli had for Elves was forced at best. Living in Ered Luin had kept him largely out of their way. Any Elves he saw were travelers, heading West to the Gray Havens, and had no business with the Dwarves. Jokes at the expense of Elves were cultural, but for him had never been particularly emotional. So his gratitude was fairly honest, far more than his Uncle would give, certainly. 

The Elvenking’s eyebrow rose, conveying both a bit of disbelief and shock. “Indeed.”

With the Elvenking gone and Óin worrying with bandages over Kíli’s eye that he had not even noticed when he first woke, the Dwarf could finally identify that his tent-mate was indeed Ori. The scribe’s eyes were open, if a bit bleary, and he was watching Kíli. 

“Doing alright there, Ori?” Kíli asked, smiling. 

Ori nodded, wincing a bit at the motion. “I only had a spot of a concussion. But Dori won’t let me get out of bed yet.”

Kíli’s eyes widened. “Óin, you have to get me out of here before Dori visits. I stole one of his swords before the battle.”

Óin, who did not have his ear horn in, continued blissfully unaware of the words.

“I think he shall just be glad to see you alive.” Ori frowned. “Everyone’s been rather…dreary. Even Dáin has been subdued, which I’m told is rather out of the ordinary.”

Óin signed in Iglishmek that Kíli's wound was healing cleanly and that he must go check on others. So Kíli smiled gratefully at the healer and waved him off.

“Is anyone…how fares the rest of the company?” Kíli asked Ori, who was moving to sit up as soon as the healer left the tent. 

“Alive,” Ori answered. “Bilbo is a right mess.”

“He’s…hurt?”

“No, no,” Ori assured him. “He’s just been bustling about, helping with all the injured. Apparently Hobbits are adept at herbal treatments.” A smirk crossed the scribe’s face. “He spends most of his time between you, your brother, and Thorin.” 

As if conjured by his mention alone, the flap of the tent flew open as a flustered Hobbit stumbled in.

“Kíli!” Bilbo yelped. “Thank Yavanna…or Mahal…whoever. Here, here.” The Hobbit was immediately by his side, his hands hovering over Kíli at the ready. “Why are you sitting up? Your abdomen must be in tatters. Does it hurt? Do you need any herbs? I’ve got loads—”

“Bilbo!” Kíli laughed. “Bilbo, I’m fine.”

Bilbo watched him closely, the hazel eyes searching for something in the Dwarf’s face before settling into a relaxed grin. “It is so good to see you awake, Master Kíli.” 

“Oi! The title is Prince, Master Boggins,” Kíli grinned, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of the Hobbit. 

“Quite,” Bilbo sighed. “The Line of Durin will be the death of me.” 

Kíli’s grin turned forced. “Tell me truly, Bilbo. How are they?” 

Bilbo swallowed, his hands wringing over one another in front of him. “I can’t—” Bilbo shook his head, disagreeing with something in his own mind. 

“Can you take me to them?” Kíli used every bit of his ability to cajole when he turned his pleading eyes on the Hobbit. “Please.”

“Kíli, you had a sword through your middle two days ago.” Bilbo winced at his own words. 

“Surely there’s a way I can get there.” Kíli’s throat closed, imagining his beloved brother and uncle dead before he could see them. 

Bilbo settled a gentle hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, his smile so kind. “I promise I’ll try to work something out.” He gently pressed Kíli down, forcing him to lie back. “You should sleep more. I promise I’ll wake you if anything changes. We shall start working on walking next time you wake, I promise.” 

The Hobbit passed a hand over Kíli’s hair, like he was a child, and Kíli imagined Bilbo doing the same to his brother. Would Bilbo also pass his fingers through Thorin’s hair? Kíli wished he would; his uncle needed someone to care gently for him as much as anyone, if not more. These thoughts comforted Kíli, and his eyes shut with the knowledge that a kind and skilled Hobbit was watching over his family while he could not.


	2. Fílial Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli realizes what a line of succession means, and he finally gets to see his brother and uncle.

When Kíli next awoke, he was alone in the tent. The cold air was sharp to his lungs, and his mouth was fuzzy. He could pull himself into a sitting position, even though it ached through his middle. The pain was far more tolerable than before. 

He sat for a moment, simply enjoying being alive, and was satisfied for about two minutes before he felt restless. As much as he would love to test it, Kíli was fairly certain he couldn’t walk on his own yet. He hoped Bilbo would come back soon. He reached for a skin of water sitting next to his bed, wincing at the effort, but enjoying the lukewarm liquid running over his tongue. 

A note had been left for him under the water, something hastily written in Westron, telling him to drink from a small bottle of tonic left next to the water skin. He sighed and resigned himself to another horrid concoction, but the last had obviously done its job well enough. 

Kíli swore an age had passed before someone showed up, although in reality it was probably only half an hour or so. Balin and Dwalin were his visitors. While he was expecting Bilbo and desiring Tauriel, he was happy to see more members of the company all the same. 

“Lad,” Balin said warmly, with a tight smile. 

The old Dwarf appeared exhausted, his back not quite straight and his gaze hollow. The hairs of his beard were frayed and fuzzy, unkempt from the journey and still obviously unattended. Balin, he supposed, was probably trying to micromanage everything from healing to rebuilding to accounting the gold of the mountain. 

“Is Fíli still alright?” Kíli asked the first question on his mind.

“Fightin’ as hard as your Uncle,” Dwalin said gruffly. Although the bald Dwarf’s stance was stiff, his eyes were gentle as they looked over Kíli, and the younger Dwarf could see something in the warrior Dwarf relax. 

Kíli nodded. “Good.” 

“How are you feeling, lad?” Balin surveyed him for any obvious problems. 

“Better.” Kíli wiggled a little to show off his unimpressive range of motion. “Bilbo says I can try walking soon.” 

“Excellent,” Balin smiled again, but his expression grew more uncomfortable after he spoke. He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it immediately.

Dwalin glanced to his older brother, also appearing displeased.

“What’s—” Kíli started, but Balin interrupted.

“Negotiations have begun with the Men and Elves,” the old Dwarf blurted. 

Kíli blinked, surprised at the sudden topic change. He was also a little shocked to remember that the rest of the world was still running while he and his family healed. But of course it was. Lake-Town had been all but demolished when Smaug attacked. There were hundreds of displaced Men, and Thranduil would surely desire his share of gold.

“Oh,” Kíli said, “That’s good, I guess.”

“There’s a lot to talk about,” Balin said, unnecessarily. 

Dwalin snorted and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Kíli was incredibly confused. 

“Obviously,” Kíli agreed. “I’m sure Thranduil and Bard are eager for compensation.” 

“Quite.” Balin was nodding, for some reason cheered by what Kíli had said. “Very astute of you, lad.” 

“Right,” Kíli said, very confused but taking the compliment. “And you’re telling me all of this, why?”

“Well, Dwarves are also in the conversations as well, you know.” 

Kíli nodded immediately, still very lost. 

“Obviously the Elvenking is representing his folk, and the Men have rallied behind Bard. The Dwarves need a representative as well, one to bring our interests to the table,” Balin said, looking away from Kíli. Dwalin was peering at his boots, inspecting the muck around the soles. 

Kíli knew all of the things Balin was saying, and he was not sure what the old Dwarf was trying to tell him. After all, obviously Thorin would be their representative. But, as Kíli himself had pointed out, Bard and Thranduil would want negotiations to begin immediately, and there was no way to know when Thorin would be able to join them. So Kíli supposed that meant the role would fall to Fíli, but his brother was also still quite unconscious. So that left…

“Oh,” Kíli breathed, his heart suddenly thudding hard in his chest. “Oh.”

“Prince Kíli,” Dwalin murmured, smirking. He kicked at something nonexistent on the ground.

“Um,” Kíli responded eloquently. 

“You’re the next in line.” Balin smiled softly. “We’ve all discussed, and while of course Dáin and I would advise and accompany you, we believe that the first representative of newly-reclaimed Erebor should be directly of Durin’s line.” 

“I—” Kíli swallowed nervously. “But Dáin is a cousin and already a ruler. He’s much more experienced…”

“Dáin was younger than you when he made a name for himself in Azanulbizar, as was Thorin,” Dwalin reminded.

“That was _battle_. Not,” Kili crunched his face in disgust, “ _politics_.”

Dwalin guffawed at that, now watching Kíli with mirth. “The kid’s got a point, brother.”

Balin shook his head in exasperation. “Kíli, you’ve gotten the same training as Fíli. You know about politics and economics, just as well as battle.”

“But I’m the _younger_ heir! This was never supposed to be me!” Kíli yelped, suddenly wishing he had taken his classes more seriously. 

“Lad,” Balin said softly. “Think of Thorin. He made _you_ an heir. He put you next in line after Fíli, not Dáin.”

Kíli swallowed heavily, feeling very dizzy. He tried to imagine himself in Thorin’s role, standing before a horde of dwarves and speaking so firmly that none could question him. In his mind, he was too short, his voice too timid. He shivered. 

“I don’t know.” 

Dwalin stepped closer to him and pulled a metal flask from under his cloak. “You’re gonna be fine.” He popped the cap off the flask and handed the container to Kíli. “Drink up, get over the initial shock. We know you can handle this.”

Kíli winced at the foul and potent amber fluid as he sipped on it. 

“Dáin was going to come talk to you himself,” Balin said. “But we decided a friendly face would be more appreciated.”

Kíli nodded, wishing he’d never gotten visitors. “Can I see Fíli and Thorin yet?” His own voice sounded miserable to his ears, his throat scratchy with the fiery alcohol. 

Dwalin grimaced. “A…friend of yours has offered to help take you to them. Balin and I need to go speak with Dáin, tell him you’ll be ready to be in meetings by the end of the week.”

“A friend?” Kíli asked, decidedly ignoring the fact that he apparently was going to be meeting with the leaders of Men and Elves in only a few short days.

“She’ll be in shortly. Waiting for Dwalin to leave most likely,” Balin answered, rolling his eyes. 

The older Dwarves left Kíli feeling confused and overwhelmed, unsure what he was supposed to be expecting. At least Dwalin left his alcohol, so the younger Dwarf took another sip and considered what he was getting into. Thorin and Fíli often made jokes thanking Mahâl that Kíli was the younger heir and that no other Dwarves would be made to suffer his antics. While he had always taken the jokes in stride, now the words spun around in his mind, making his neck prickle and his hands sweat. 

“Kíli?” 

He had not even noticed someone entering the tent. Now he did, and all his thoughts of meetings with Elves and Men fled.

“Tauriel!” He yelped, his voice cracking. 

She exhaled audibly, her eyes soft. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling himself forward, closer, despite the pain in his side. “Were you injured?”

“I’m well,” she said, moving toward him. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Kíli rolled his eyes, but he was smiling wildly. “Elves.”

“ _Dwarves_ ,” she retorted, sitting gently on the edge of his bed.

His breaths came easily for the first time since the battle as he watched her. She was wearing her usual green tunic, but the fabric was clean of any evidence of the mud of battle. Her bow and a small set of arrows were slung across her back, and Kíli wondered if there was still danger out there or if she was like him, never desiring to be too far from his weapons. 

“Bilbo gave me leave to help you see your family, if you’re up to it,” she said, a playful grin on her face and a challenge hidden somewhere in the words.

“Absolutely,” he nodded rigorously. 

“Good.” She smirked. “Need I carry you?”

He winced at the image of the tall, graceful elf woman cradling his smaller form in her arms. He shook his head.

“No.” He took a deep breath and started to turn himself in the bed. 

“Hey.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, slowing him down. “Let me help you.”

He nodded, leaning into her more than strictly necessary as she put an arm around his middle to help him lift off the bed. He slipped an arm around her waist, using her as leverage, letting his fingers tangle in the soft, green fabric. When he moved to stand, she also stood, and Kíli was reminded how very much taller she was. Despite the height difference, she could still take a lot of his weight off his abdomen.

“Does this hurt?” She asked when he was finally off the bed, fully standing. 

“A bit,” he admitted, but he leaned his head into her side. She smelled of the forest and dew on a summer morning. The aching in his side seemed distant. 

“Let us go slowly then,” she said softly. 

Kíli honestly did not mind the pace; so glad he was to be right next to Tauriel. 

When they first stepped out of the tent, the sunlight was too bright, but the warmth was welcome on his skin. The tent was set up right in the shadow of Erebor, the height rising precipitously before him. Many dwarves were bustling between tents and the mountain, dressed in a wide array of gear from that of a warrior to that of a miner. 

Many stopped when they saw him, pausing and tilting their heads at the sight of him with an Elf woman. Some dipped their heads in acknowledgement, and others murmured a ‘Prince Kíli’ in greeting. 

“They are not far,” Tauriel said. She pointed to the tent nearest to his own. “Fíli is in that tent.” Then she pointed to one just beyond. “And your Uncle resides there. Both are alone to reduce the risk of infection. Your healer wishes to move them into the mountain, but the air quality is still too poor, even if there is less mud.”

Kíli had been so eager to see his brother that he had not considered what he might actually find when he finally got to visit. Now, with Tauriel firmly helping him along, and his mind wandering beyond the pain in his side, he was suddenly terrified of seeing Fíli. He pushed down the fear, thinking only of how much he would want his brother to be there if he too were so injured.

“Alright,” Tauriel said, when they reached the opening of the tent. “Do you want me to go in with you? Can you make it the rest of the way?”

Her strength was a comfort, and Kíli honestly considered his physical limitations before he answered her question. 

“I do not mind if you are present,” he answered after a moment. “I find your presence…soothing. But I understand if you do not wish to spend your time in the company of the injured.” 

Tauriel did not hesitate in her response, and the hand around his middle tightened slightly. “It is no trouble to accompany you.” 

The inside of the tent was not much different than his own, but Kíli hardly saw anything beyond the blonde Dwarf situated under a wooly brown blanket. Kíli’s breath caught as he looked over his brother’s form, and he did not notice that Tauriel had drawn him slightly closer to her, offering more support. 

Fíli was so pale, his skin appearing sunken, and even his hair had lost its shine, now a dull dishwater mess of grime and sweat. Kíli could not see his chest rise and fall, and he lurched forward without thought of the Elf at his side, suddenly desperate to hear his brother’s breaths. Tauriel had to leap to catch him as he tumbled, not strong enough for the motion he had undertaken. 

“Kíli, peace,” Tauriel said, her forehead resting against his hair as she whispered in his ear. “Your brother still lives.”

He nodded and let her help him regain his balance, but his eyes never left Fíli. 

When he finally reached the edge of the cot, Tauriel let him hold himself against the cushion while she fetched him a chair. His fingers grasped the fabric tightly, although he wished he could reach for Fíli. But he could not tell where his brother was injured and was too fearful of hurting him further. 

Tauriel helped him take a seat, and as soon as he was situated, he reached for his brother’s hand. He found the tanned and calloused fingers whole, although too cold. Kíli wove his fingers with a hand he knew as well as his own, a hand that had helped teach him to walk, to ride, to shoot, to hug…

“I know he looks sickly still, but he is much improved, Kíli.” Tauriel’s voice was like a whisper in his mind, soothing.

He could see the bulk of bandages hidden beneath the blanket, and there was a clean white bandage wrapped around his skull, obviously tending to some hurt over his left eye. His hair tucked out over the bandages, spilling down to his shoulders. Although the strands were dirty, he could tell some care had been taken to comb through knots and remove some grime. 

“Ori mentioned that Bilbo cares for him?” Kíli asked, leaning his forehead against Fíli’s fingers.

“Yes,” Tauriel said softly. “Bilbo is a tender caretaker. I have also spent time when I can. However, many of your company find my presence alone with the prince to be…disconcerting.”

Kíli smirked. “Thank you, Tauriel. You did not have to do that.” 

The Elf did not respond, letting a calm silence fall over the tent. Kíli went back to surveying his brother, wishing to see some visible proof that Fíli would come back to him whole. At least now he could see the slight motion of Fíli’s breath as his chest rose and fell ever so slightly 

“I am proud to have helped the line of Durin,” Tauriel finally said, her voice low. 

Kíli glanced to her. She was peering thoughtfully at Fíli as he slumbered on. 

“I am glad to have helped your family,” she continued, her dark green eyes meeting Kíli’s for a moment before she looked away away, a soft blush warming her skin. 

He reached his left hand out to Tauriel, leaving his right attached to Fíli, capturing her hand as well. He lifted it to his lips, kissing the soft, pale skin of her fingers. 

“Amrâlimê,” he whispered into the skin before dropping her fingers and turning back to his brother. 

A moment passed before Tauriel spoke, her tone one of amusement. “You still have not told me what that means.”

Kíli glanced sidelong at her, smiling. He winked. “The language of the Dwarves is a closely guarded secret, especially from weed-eaters.” 

Tauriel’s eyes widened at the insult but then settled when she saw his wide smile. “Your language may have secrets, but your eyes do not, Dwarf.”

“Then you do not need a translator, Tauriel.” His voice softened on her name, letting it flow like the music it was. 

“Shall I make pretty names for you as well, callon-nîn?” 

Kíli chuckled. “I’ll learn Sindarin,” he said. “Even if my Uncle desires to rid me of my tongue when he hears it. Until then, I shall imagine that you’ve called me strong and handsome.”

Tauriel hummed thoughtfully. “You would learn my tongue?”

Kíli smirked at her, his eyes turning mischievous. “If you wish for me to learn your _tongue_ , my dear Elf, I would gladly do so.”

Tauriel glared. 

“Besides,” Kíli continued, sobering a bit, “I believe it would be good for a prince of Erebor to know the language of our neighbors.” Kíli huffed out a hollow laugh and turned back to his brother. “Fíli would never let me hear the end of it if he could hear us carrying on.”

Tauriel’s hand was on his shoulder now, squeezing lightly. “Some say that those in the deep sleep of injury can hear those around them.” 

“Then I am doomed,” Kíli murmured. 

“Perhaps be more concerned about your uncle’s reaction when he awakens,” Tauriel commented lightly. 

“I’ll behave around him then,” he whispered. 

Tauriel put a light hand against Kíli’s neck, her fingers cool and soft. “That hardly sounds like the nephew he knows.”

Kíli chuckled, but his throat roughened on the sound. “I don’t know how to see him without Fee,” he found himself admitting. “I don’t know how to do _anything_ alone. Fíli’s always been there.”

Tauriel waited patiently while he worked himself up to leaving his big brother, which was far more difficult than he imagined. He would ask to be moved to Fíli’s tent as soon as possible. He would sleep better with his brother next to him. He also firmly believed Fíli would heal better that way. 

The walk to Thorin’s tent felt eternal. The elf at his side was a solid weight, a strength where he had little. His fingers grazed the edge of the tent flap, hesitating, not sure if he actually wanted to do this. He took a long burning breath and then pulled the tarp aside. 

He was somewhat surprised to find that Thorin was not alone. His uncle was unconscious beneath a heavy linen sheet, the fabric as pale as Thorin’s bloodless face. Next to him, slouched down in a chair, his russet curls scattered over the bed, was Bilbo Baggins. 

The hobbit was deeply asleep, head resting on the side of Thorin's bed. His fingers were curled into the blanket, his face gentle and relaxed. Someone had draped a heavy wool over his shoulders, protecting their tiny burglar from the chill in the air. 

“Does Bilbo sleep here often?” Kíli questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tauriel sighed and kept her voice low. “Yes,” her tone was fond. “Here. Take this chair.” She helped him sit at his uncle’s other side. 

“Bilbo won’t stay in the mountain,” she continued, her voice still low. “Not since Thorin banished him. Your other company member—Balin, I believe?—has tried to talk sense into him, but he won’t enter Erebor. And he also will not stay with the Men; their camp is too far away from you and Thorin and Fíli.”

“So he sleeps here,” Kíli concluded with a sigh, watching Bilbo’s sleeping form with a small smile. “The daft little creature.”

“He loves you and your family very much,” Tauriel commented. “He’s been reading you all old Elvish tales while you sleep. Says the horror of hearing such fanciful tales will wake you from your slumber.”

Kíli’s gaze moved from Bilbo to his uncle. Thorin’s face was littered with small scratches, with raised purple and blue bruises running along his cheekbones. “Thorin read Fíli and I stories as children. I think some of them may have been Elvish.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Kíli smiled. “Fíli and I were relentless in our demands for stories. He was probably forced to find as much material as possible.” 

Tauriel’s gaze fell on Thorin, assessing. Kíli realized that her impression of him was entirely his behavior in Thranduil’s halls and then that of him in the depths of gold sickness. 

“He raised Fíli and I. He and my mum.” He was defending Thorin somehow, and he found that his voice was surprisingly steady. “Da was killed in a minor skirmish with Orcs. Thorin says he died saving some kids, but that never really mattered much to us. We’d lost our dad. That’s all that counted. But Thorin was always there.” His voice cracked.

Tauriel let a hand fall to his neck, and he leaned into the pressure. The only sound in the room was that of Bilbo’s light snores. His uncle’s breath was low, like Fíli’s had been, only noticeable if you were really paying attention.

“They want me to be him,” Kíli said, watching the unnatural stillness in his uncle’s form. “I’m to meet with your king and Bard later this week.”

“Oh,” her voice was only slightly shocked. “I had thought…well, are you prepared for that?”

“Thanks for the confidence,” Kíli murmured, feeling very small. 

“No!” Tauriel crouched next to him, which really wasn’t helping his ego any. “That isn’t what I meant. Kíli, please look at me?” 

He tried to meet her gaze confidently, defiantly, but being out of bed for so long was making him ashamedly tired. 

“You just seem so young,” she said, wincing at the words, but Kíli could tell she was just trying to be honest. “I only meant, are you nervous?”

Kíli smiled crookedly, looking down at her where she knelt. “I thought we were all young to Elves.”

“That is very true,” Tauriel smiled. “But there is a certain…sadness to leaders, I suppose, that I have come to expect. And you, Kíli, are anything but sorrowful.”

He frowned, looking at his uncle. The still form of his brother lay in the forefront of his mind. “I don’t feel particularly happy right now.”

“And yet you still reserve smiles for me,” she whispered, a soft curve to her lips. “That is strength, Kíli. The strength to find happiness in times of sorrow should never be discounted. If your hobbit were awake, I believe he would agree with me.”

“Sounds like Elf sap,” Kíli grumbled, but he could not help but grin at her. 

“Yes, well, I am an Elf.” She winked.

“Mahal save me,” Kíli sighed.

“And Ilúvatar protect us all,” she added. 

Tauriel stayed kneeling for a moment, smiling at him kindly, and Kíli found himself blushing lightly as her bright eyes watched him with obvious affection. She broke their slightly tense staring contest first by leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the brow. Her breath ghosted over his hairline as she spoke, causing him to shiver.

“I believe you can rule your people, Prince Kíli of Durin’s line.”


	3. Thorin's Mantle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli is nervous. Bilbo is sweet. Thorin and Fíli sleep on.

Kíli could walk on his own with the help of a cane by the time the day of his meeting with the Men and Elves dawned. He had not been able to sleep much, so he had spent the night talking to Fíli, since they now shared a tent. His brother didn’t respond yet, but Kíli still wanted to keep his brother up to date.

Dwalin came by in the early hours, when the sun had not yet burned away the morning dew, and everything felt cool and new. The old warrior held a bundle of dusty clothes in his arms. 

“I’ve been in the mountain,” he said gruffly. “The soot’s everywhere.” 

He dropped the clothes on Kíli’s lap without ceremony. The younger Dwarf could smell the ash and dust in the fabric. 

“This…finery was your uncle’s. Balin reckons it’d be a good idea if you wore something regal to the meeting. Mahal knows the tree-shagger will be dressed in his frippery.” 

Kíli unrolled the ball of fabric. The pieces were stiff, a little oily, but otherwise still serviceable. The most elegant piece was a deep blue leather tunic. The shield of Durin’s line was woven in with tiny white-gold threads making the crown shine in a field of blue. Kíli ran rough fingers over the seven stars at the top, his breath a little shallow. 

“Is this mithril?” His voice was a bit strangled. 

“Only the best,” Dwalin agreed. 

“ _Mahal’s beard_ , Dwalin. This is too much for me,” Kíli whispered.

A corner of the older Dwarf’s mouth twitched. “I take it the gold sickness is not affecting you at all, then? That’s good.”

Kíli was nauseous at the reminder. “No.” He let the fine leather rest in his lap and looked at his brother. “I can’t even imagine caring about gold right now.” 

“You are going to need to care for yer meetin’.” 

“I know—I just mean—I—” Kíli paused, too anxious to order his thoughts. “I’ll be ready.” 

“I don’t doubt,” Dwalin said kindly, although Kíli could not fully believe him. 

When Dwalin left, Kíli carefully redressed himself in his uncle’s old clothing. He imagined a younger Thorin performing these same actions, buckling the same straps, tying the same leather strips, running fingers over the fine threads on his sternum.

“Thorin was bigger than me, Fee,” Kíli told his unconscious brother. “I suppose he had more to eat than we did growing up.” He frowned. “Not that Uncle didn’t do a good job with us, of course.” He was blathering to empty air: fantastic start to the day. 

The garments were too nice for Kíli, who had grown up not quite in poverty, but certainly not as royalty, not really. Sure, he _knew_ he was a Prince of Durin, but that hadn’t really meant that much while they were in exile. Prince was a role that he and Fíli pretended to fulfill as children and little more. 

The meetings would probably start in a few hours, after all parties had plenty of time to eat and prepare for the day. Kíli could not even imagine touching food right now, his nerves were too high. His fingers twitched, wanting to grab his bow more than anything. Oh what he’d give to go hunting. 

Instead of a bow, he grabbed a comb. He also pocketed a few hair beads that Balin had found for him. The old Dwarf was insisting that he braid his hair properly for the meeting, and Kíli was not up for the fight to do otherwise.

He left Fíli with a gentle clap on the shoulder. As he hobbled to his uncle’s tent, some dwarves stopped to watch him pass. Of course, any dwarf’s eyes would be drawn to the glow of mithril in the rising sun. Kíli tried to manage a majestic gait, despite the cane. He was not Thorin, but he could try to give these dwarves the sort of reassurance that Kíli felt when watching his uncle rule. 

Kíli wasn’t even surprised to find Bilbo in Thorin’s tent. The hobbit was reading by candlelight, his golden curls glowing in the flickering fire. When Kíli entered, Bilbo raised his head. His eyes widened at the sight of the dwarf, and the hobbit’s lips quirked into a grin.

“Don’t you look fine,” the hobbit said softly. 

“Mmm. I’ve got to represent Thorin today.” 

“Yes, quite. Are you ready?”

Kíli shrugged, swallowing the rush of panic in his throat. “As I can be.”

“Excellent.”

Kíli stood for a moment, lost in his thoughts of the day to come. “I actually meant to ask…” He frowned, unsure how to do this. 

“Yes?” Bilbo set his book aside, devoting his attention to Kíli completely. 

“You can farm, right?” The young dwarf said quickly. “I mean, Hobbits are good at planting and such. The Shire was just…magnificent with all that green.”

“Growing things is a pastime of ours, yes,” Bilbo agreed, raising his eyebrows, encouraging Kíli to explain more. 

“Well, the Men, they’ve been living as water-folk for… over a generation now, and we dwarves are skilled at many things, but farming is not one of them. With the dragon fire, the land has been scorched, but we’ll need farms both here near the mountain and in Dale if we ever hope to survive.” Kíli took a breath, hoping he was explaining himself fully. “So as regent of Erebor, I request, Bilbo Baggins, burglar of Thorin, your help in learning to grow on our land.”

Bilbo blinked a few times, obviously surprised, but his expression cleared into a bright smile. “I’d love to help, Kíli, of course. Anything I can do.” 

Kíli sighed in relief. “Thank Mahal.” 

“Did you think I’d say no?” Bilbo cocked an eyebrow. 

“This is only my third royal request, Bilbo. It’s a big deal.” 

“Mmm. And who were the other two?” 

“Dwalin and Balin,” he said quickly. “Dwalin is the obvious choice to start reorganizing our defenses. We’ve got to organize the people who want to stay after Dáin leaves. Of course I also needed Balin as treasurer and advisor right away.” 

Kíli moved to sit across from Bilbo. The hobbit was watching him intently. “And I’ve got plans for the rest of the company that’ll hopefully suit their talents well.”

“Sounds like you’re doing well then,” Bilbo’s voice was sincere. 

“I’m just trying to do what Thorin would do…would want.” Kíli breathed, forcing a smile. He glanced over at his uncle. Thorin’s chest wound had somehow avoided infection before they finally managed to seal the thing, which was a miracle of Elven magic to be sure. But he still showed no signs of awareness. 

Bilbo sighed, following Kíli’s gaze. The Hobbit was quiet for a while, and Kíli pulled out his comb and began moving it through the strands he would need for a larger front braid. 

“I’m going to be so angry if Thorin doesn’t wake up so I can apologize, let me tell you,” Bilbo blurted out. He immediately threw his hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Kíli. That sounded cold. I just…”

Kíli laughed, equal parts painful and desperate. “I’ll curse him all the way in the halls of our ancestors if he and Fíli leave me to be king.” 

Bilbo gave him a strained smile. “May the Valar spare them from that.” 

Kíli met the grim smile and started separating the strands of his hair into seven pieces. Bilbo watched with some interest, following as Kíli worked at the braids tightly. His hands were shaking, and the knots suffered for it. Perhaps the braid would be recognizable, but it certainly was going to look like a Dwarfling wove it. 

“You’re going to be just fine,” Bilbo said softly, watching his shaking hands. 

Kíli shrugged nervously, focusing on the hair instead of the kind hobbit across from him. 

“You are a fine young dwarf.” Bilbo insisted. “And if it’s experience you’re worried about, Dáin will help you.” 

Kíli chuckled nervously. “Dáin doesn’t like me much.”

“Nonsense. You’re just intimidated.” Bilbo shrugged. “You know what your people need.”

“So I should ask Bard for every ounce of ale left in Lake-town?” Kíli’s voice was deadpan, and Bilbo blinked a few times before glaring. 

“As much as I’d love some ale myself, we should probably focus on things like food. The cold months will be upon us soon,” Bilbo reminded gently. 

Kíli clipped off the braid, wincing at how crooked it was. Thorin would be disappointed; Fíli would laugh. Bilbo was silently considering the atrocious braiding job. 

Then the hobbit stood suddenly, and walked over to the dwarf. Kíli furrowed his brow, trying to figure out why Bilbo was suddenly right in front of him, watching him closely. The hobbit then reached forward and knocked their foreheads together. Bilbo winced a bit at the force but held their heads close. 

“Kíli, I’m very proud of you. You’re going to be excellent.” Bilbo’s hazel eyes were bright in front of him, determined and honest. “You’re doing so well; you’ve _done_ so well. Thorin would be proud.”

Kíli blinked a few times, shocked, and utterly overwhelmed. He was surprised to find his eyes filling with tears. He pulled back from the hobbit, quickly rubbing away any evidence.

“Now, undo that braid and give me your comb.” Bilbo crossed his arms and held out a hand. “Your hair looks like you’ve been living in exile your whole bloody life.” 

Kíli’s eyes widened. Hair braiding was…intimate. Not necessarily sexual, although it was a common activity among lovers, but it spoke of familial-levels of closeness. Surely Bilbo had no idea that he was effectively saying that Kíli was akin to a son or brother by offering. All the same, Kíli found himself offering the comb and relaxing against the hobbit’s hands as they brushed out his hair. 

“You don’t know the braids,” Kíli pointed out, as the hobbit cursed a knot of hair at the back of his head. 

“I can copy the awful one you just did, and you can explain the rest. I’ll be fine. Just relax.” 

“It wasn’t that awful,” Kíli grumbled. 

“No, but you’re representing the line of Durin, Kings of Erebor, for the first time since Smaug took it. We’re going to make sure you look the part.” Bilbo tapped his head to signal he turn.

Kíli sighed and turned his head. He let Bilbo work in silence and found his thoughts drifting with the soft caresses of comb over his scalp. He was reminded of his mother, miles and miles away, who brushed his hair when he was young to calm him down. 

“What does this one mean?” Bilbo asked as he re-did the seven-stranded one that hung by Kíli’s right temple. 

“It’s the braid of the line of Durin. I wear it as one of Thorin’s heirs.” Kíli paused watching as Bilbo deftly looped the strands. “Thorin made the bead for it himself. Fíli and I have a matching set.” 

Bilbo blinked in surprise, stopping his movements momentarily. “I guess I can’t imagine that. Thorin making beads.”

Kíli smiled. “He’s a very skilled blacksmith. Silver is actually his favorite, despite…you know…the _gold_ madness.”

Bilbo took a shaky breath, wincing at the reminder. “I’ll make sure to mock Thorin for his misplaced madness when he awakens.” 

“Which better be soon,” Kíli said quickly. “I’m not supposed to be the one doing this sort of thing.”

“You’re one of Thorin’s heirs.”

“I’m the _younger_ heir. I’m here for comic relief from all of the pride and family honor. I’m not supposed to make important decisions.” Kíli took a shaky breath, trying to shift his focus back to the braid that Bilbo was finishing. 

“You’re going to be alright.” Bilbo smiled at him, and then bit his tongue as he snapped Thorin’s bead into the place. 

“But look at me!” Kíli held his arms out, showing off his too-big and too-heavy regal gear. “I’m not majestic! Thorin walks into a room and everyone immediately listens. And I’m just…I trip a lot! And these clothes are too heavy and too nice for me!” Kíli grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders, shaking him a bit. “I’m only 77! I don’t even have a _beard_!”

“Okay, okay,” Bilbo patted the dwarf’s hands, where they were gripping the hobbit tightly. “It’s okay.” He chuckled lightly. “You’re older than Bard, remember that. I know it’s not quite the same since he’s a Man, but you’ve still walked middle earth longer than he has. And Men and Elves aren’t going to see you as too young because of the beard. Elves don’t grow them, and Men don’t care about them, not the same way as Dwarves.” 

Kíli found himself nodding, wondering why he’d effectively yelled at the hobbit just then. 

“You’re a bit silly; I will give you that. But you aren’t dumb, Kíli. You’ll be _fine_.” Bilbo patted Kíli’s shoulders and gave him an appraising look. “Those clothes fit just fine. You actually favor Thorin right now. I’d say you even look a bit…majestic.” Bilbo winked.

Kíli sighed, relaxing at their burglar’s words. “We would never have made it this far without you, Mister Boggins.” 

“Don’t I know it,” the hobbit murmured. “Now turn back around. Let me finish your hair.”

Kíli hummed his acquiescence and turned. “Uncle is going to be jealous that you braided my hair.”

Bilbo didn’t respond immediately, focusing on his combing. “Well,” he said after a moment, “if Thorin’s ever having a panic attack before a council meeting, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Dwarves don’t have _panic attacks_ , Bilbo,” Kíli said indignantly. 

“Sure they don’t.” The hobbit tugged on a strand of hair. “You’re all just the same as the rocks from which you’re hewn.”

“That’s right,” Kíli nodded happily. He paused as Bilbo started separating strands for another braid. “And I’m _so_ telling Fíli about how you offered to relieve Uncle Thorin’s stress.”

Bilbo hit him with the comb. “Don’t make it sound crass.”

“ _I’m_ not the one offering to—”

Bilbo tugged _hard_ on Kíli’s hair to turn his head.

“Ow!” He yelped. 

“I will end the Line of Durin right now.” Bilbo wielded the comb like a sword. 

“Alright, alright.” Kíli raised his arms. “I’ll spread the word. Bilbo will happily braid Thorin’s hair, no crassness about it, just a good friendly gentlehobbit.” 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but released the captive Dwarf. “You’re impossible.”

Kíli smiled and relaxed into his seat, only speaking when he had to describe another braid to Bilbo. The hobbit worked carefully until Kíli had two long braids that fell to his shoulders and two smaller strands that combined into one larger braid at the back of his skull. 

Bilbo told him he looked like a fine dwarf and the hobbit’s smile was genuine, if a bit sad. They settled back into their seats, a comfortable silence falling between them. But Kíli had never been great at silence.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if Thorin hadn’t gotten sick at the end?” Kíli asked, tapping his fingers against his cane thoughtfully. 

Bilbo’s features contorted, his eyes going distant and tight. “All the time.” The hobbit’s fingers went to the pocket of his waistcoat, nervously fiddling with something inside. 

“I think it would’ve been worse if you hadn’t been there,” Kíli told him. “Thorin trusted you when he wouldn’t listen to the rest of us.” 

Bilbo cast his eyes down. “And I betrayed him.”

“Thorin—” Kíli’s voice cracked a bit. “Thorin betrayed everything he stood for first. The Arkenstone blinded him. We were all fools, Bilbo.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Bilbo said softly. 

“I hate it,” Kíli said with venom. “I hate the Arkenstone.”

“There is much evil in the world, Kíli. All we can do is to be strong against the perils that we face.” Bilbo removed his hand from his pocket. He opened his fingers to reveal an acorn. The small nut looked huge in the hobbit’s tiny, gentle palm. “I found this in Beorn’s garden. I am going to plant it when I make it home. It reminds me that there’s still goodness in the world. Potential. Hiding in the smallest of places.”

Kíli frowned, looking at the acorn. “You could stay, you know. Here in Erebor.” 

Bilbo’s gaze flickered to Thorin’s prone form. “I don’t know if I could, Kíli.”

The young dwarf looked to his uncle and sighed. “What if he wakes up? Would you stay then?” 

“He was…incredibly angry with me.” 

“He was sick.” Kíli waved his hand in dismissal. “And if you think you’re still banished from the mountain, I’m the regent right now. I declare you innocent of all charges put forth by my uncle.” Kíli grinned. “You’re one of us. You braided my hair.” 

“Mmm. So that _does_ mean something? Braiding?” Bilbo frowned. “I wondered why Óin was so flustered when he found me brushing out Thorin’s hair.”

Kíli laughed. “It’s close. Familial.” He looked down at the hobbit pointedly. “Loving.”

Bilbo flushed. “Oh bother. Why should something as practical as braiding be so personal?” 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Dwarves are possibly a little over-concerned with our hair.” He flicked the bead clasped at the end of a braid. 

“Is that why Bofur screamed when I tried to cut mine?”

Kíli’s eyes widened. “You tried to cut your hair?”

“It’s getting long!” Bilbo tugged at his fringe where it fell into his eyes. 

Kíli grinned, pulling out a spare bead. “Want me to fix that?” 

“I’d look ridiculous. I’m a hobbit.” He sighed. “Besides, didn’t you just say it’s improper?”

“You have perfectly acceptable hair,” Kíli told him. “And you already braided mine. It’s only fair I return the sentiment, Uncle Bilbo.” He winked at the hobbit’s flush. 

“Now that can hardly be proper,” Bilbo protested. 

“I think it’s perfectly proper! That way you can stay at the mountain. The line of Durin will adopt you!” Kíli clapped. “Mother will love you. Come Bilbo, let me give you a braid. It’ll be small, I promise.” 

Bilbo still hesitated.

“Please,” Kíli smiled as widely as possible. “It would really help calm me down for the meeting today.”

The hobbit huffed. “Fine.” 

Kíli hobbled himself to the hobbit and selected a small bit of the curls that were falling into Bilbo’s eyes. 

“Thorin’s going to wake up, Master Boggins,” Kíli said, forcing his voice to be as chipper as possible. He looped one of the golden curls behind another strand. “And you’ll stay in Erebor. We’ll get all of your handkerchiefs sent here from Bag End.”

Bilbo released a shaky breath, and Kíli pretended not to see the hobbit’s sad, hopeless eyes fall to his uncle.


End file.
